by T. Mikita
Suddenly a wave of nausea swept over Asher and he nearly doubled over as the urge to vomit overwhelmed him. He put out his hands, and clung to the side of the bed, pushing away the feeling. He would be here for his aunt. He would do this, no matter that the stress of the day seemed to be catching up to him. He closed his eyes for a moment centering himself. Demanding that he focus his strength.
He nodded and Isaac continued.
The Sentinel gave no indication that he heard anything at all except his own voice, but his eyes had narrowed and it was evident from his tone that he was also using all of his concentration to continue the chant. Something was fighting them. Something that did not want his aunt healed.
Asher shivered in the freezing air and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that something was here, in the very room with them and he licked his lips in nervousness. There was a rotten taste on the air. He shuddered gripping the sheet that covered his aunt.
He closed his eyes and tried to picture the two summoned holy entities in the room with them as well, but his mind was not disciplined enough and doubt flooded in. Alarm filled his mind and fear gripped him, snaking its cold fingers around his brain. The stench hit his nose and he gagged, fighting with everything that he had in him not to double over and hurl vomit all over the floor. Pain slashed through him as if he had been impaled. He wanted to call out. The sunshine from the windows was blotted out and a darkness that no man could explain with words slipped ever so slowly into the room. The air grew ever colder until Asher could barely draw breath. The white tendrils of light slowly turned black, until they were like a tangle of thorns that held his aunt captive.
It was so cold. Asher gripped the sheet and concentrated. His teeth were chattering, so he clamped them shut. They were a distraction. He centered his thoughts on good and protection, and then focused on the dark tendrils wrapped around his aunt in strangling profusion.
Get out, he thought, imagining himself ripping the tendrils from her. He pulled at them in his mind’s eye, but they held fast.
Grating laughter filled his head. “You think you can protect her?” came the mocking voice. “Foolish child.”
The tendrils grew thicker, the spines on them, more intense, more deadly. They pulled and cut into his aunt’s skin, digging into her throat until they drew blood. Asher cut himself on the first of the thorns, but he continued pulling at them. He would not fail.
“I am not a child,” he hissed at the evil thing.
Asher was filled with rage, the same rage that threatened to rise in him every time Lacey taunted him or he failed at some school test. He would not fail now. It was the same sort of rage that filled him with frustration when Jules was not here with him at Whitehall, and then when she was hurt. It was the rage that took over him when he fought the creatures the night his father died, and at the hospital earlier today. The rage morphed into a berserker power and he felt the rush of it counteracting the nausea, driving it back.
The vines around his aunt grew black and ominous in awful profusion, but Asher pulled at them, concentrating to keep his solution ahead of the problem, but they were growing as fast as he pulled them away.
The nausea became more pronounced. His body trying to reject something about the vines, Asher assumed, but he could not be bothered by that. Not now. He yanked them loose from his aunt, his concentration clearer than it had ever been. It was simple. He had to get them off of her. He understood that. They were smothering her, poisoning her, and he was her only hope.
Asher kept pulling them, and they kept cutting him, digging into his flesh and sapping his strength until time seemed to stand still. The vines were endless, and his hands ached. They were stinging and burning, but Asher didn’t dare slow.
“Stop,” said the voice in his head. The sound alone made his head pound and his teeth ache. “Just stop. You are hurt. You know you want to stop.”
Asher did want to stop, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do this, but he must, he thought. He could not stop. He would free his aunt. He would not stop. He would not stop. He would not stop. Asher said the words over and over in his mind like a mantra.
“Don’t think this is over, Pendragon.” The voice in his mind whispered and Asher’s shivered.
Then abruptly, it was all just gone. The vines and the blackness melted back into white light. Asher blinked as if waking from a dream. Or a nightmare, he thought.
Sentinel Isaac’s hand was on his arm. There was still an intense pain in Asher’s stomach and in his head. His hands felt like they were on fire. The room swayed in a dizzying motion and suddenly felt exceedingly warm.
“Are you alright, son?”
“Is it gone?” Asher asked looking around for the murderous vines or the unseen entity they had originated from. He swallowed hard trying to hold onto his rolling stomach. He breathed deeply through his nose and swallowed again.
“Yes,” the man assured him.
“My aunt?” Asher asked.
“She is exceedingly weak,” said the healer. “But she is breathing a bit easier now. Are you alright?”
Asher nodded and the room swam again with the movement. He looked at his hands. They were bloody and swollen. How had the shadow thorns bloodied his hands? They were just in his head, weren’t they? Hadn’t he imagined that? What had really happened?
He blinked hard trying to regain his equilibrium. “What?” he said in confusion, and then abruptly threw up on the floor.
Winifred pulled out her wand, but the Sentinel stopped her from cleaning up the mess. “We will want to examine the bile,” he said.
“For what?” Asher asked equal parts embarrassment and horror. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, careful to avoid the blood still on his hands.
Sentinel Isaac handed him a handkerchief. Asher used it to wipe is mouth first and then his bloody hands. There were scratches all over them, as if he had stuck his hands in a briar patch, or a cheese grater. More than that, they were so swollen Asher could hardly bring his fingers together.
“For poison,” the Sentinel said examining Asher’s hands. “The poison you drew out of your aunt. You should have told us you have an immunity.”
“To what?” Asher said. He stumbled and clutched the bed.
“To poison. We could have supported you better had we known,” Winnifred said.
“Even so, you have over-extended.” The healer said as he traced a finger over Asher’s blistered hand. It looked like it had been scalded, or immersed in poison ivy.
Asher rubbed it. They itched and hurt all at the same time.
“Are you sure you are alright?” the priest asked.
“Yeah.” Asher replied. Now that the dark was gone his head was clearing. “It’s better now. I feel a little light-headed is all. And really tired.”
“Understandable,” Isaac said
Asher thought of his nightmares and realized that they had become real. The darkness in his nightmares always swallowed his father, but today he drove it back.
“Will she be alright now?” Asher asked, looking back at his aunt.
“I believe so,” Sentinel Isaac said, “You have done much to help her by drawing out the poison. I did not know you knew how to do that.”
“I didn’t either,” Asher admitted, “But I had to save her. I just…” He shrugged.
“Followed an instinct,” Winifred said softly. “Vanessa used to do that.”
Mention of Asher’s mom stunned him. He realized Winifred had known his mother as a friend. His father too if he wasn’t mistaken. He wasn’t sure what to say. He looked down at his aunt again. “She’s the only family I have left.” His gaze returned to Winifred then, and found understanding in her eyes. His strong aunt did not look so invincible now and the thought filled him with fear. She looked vulnerable. “She is still so pale.”
“The Gate draws on her life force,” the healer said.
“What?” Asher was horrified. “Well, tell it to stop!”
“She is the Guardian of W
hitegate,” Dame Winifred explained. “We can’t stop the magic she accepted.”
“The trauma to the Gate notwithstanding, it is understandable that the Guardian would suffer in its defense. Do not worry. Lady Pendragon may be new to the position, but she is not new to the magic it involves. She shared the burden of power with her brother for years. Now that the toxicity has been drawn from her, she will recover. She was over-taxed by this entity, but she is strong.”
“That darkness, the entity, what is it?” Asher demanded.
“That remains to be seen,” Winifred replied. “Your aunt tried to discover its identity, but to no avail.”
“Someone needs to help her,” Asher said looking from one to the other. “She can’t face that thing alone.”
“I agree. But right now, she needs to rest,” said Sentinel Isaac.
The healer turned to Winifred as several other healers came in to whisk away the vomit and the blood.
Asher still felt shaky, and sank down in one of his aunt’s chairs. He was so exhausted he could barely stand.
He was horrified that while his aunt was so hurt, the Gate was still sucking on her power like some sort of vampire. Asher concentrated on prayers of restoration both for his aunt and for himself.
33
Rest for the Weary
Sentinel Isaac’s voice seemed to come from far away. “Another should assist Lady Pendragon. Perhaps take over some of the duties of the Gate for the time being to lessen her load. She is still extremely weak. I will put her in a healing sleep, so as not to tax her weakened state. We shall see how she fares in a week or two.”
“I will speak to the Council,” Winifred said. “She usually left Dame Versha as her proxy when she went on a mission.”
“No,” said the healer. “That is not who I saw in her mind. I believe she has chosen her proxy, as well as…” The healer glanced at Asher. “Her successor.”
Something sounded so final about his words. “She’s not going to die,” Asher blurted. He reached out a hand to grasp his aunt’s. It was cold as ice, as if she were already dead. “You can’t die, Aunt Evelyn,” he said holding her one hand in both of his. “I still need you.” He closed his eyes in concentration. He did not think he ever had prayed harder for anything.
“Who did she choose?” Winifred asked softly, but it was not soft enough. Asher still heard her.
The healer shook his head. “Sir Merrick Niles,” he said. “But of course, the Gate will choose its own Guardian if it truly comes to that.”
Winifred sucked in a breath. “The council will never allow it. They will not even allow Niles to be presented as a candidate. He is still under investigation,” she blurted. “My opinion, the thing that is masquerading as Niles is the root of this entire problem. It should be in shackles.”
“Nonetheless,” said the healer. “That is Lady Pendragon’s wish. You cannot deny that Sir Merrick Niles is strong enough to hold the reins, if he is what he says.”
Asher looked up from his prayer and glanced from one to the other. Niles was under investigation? For what, he wondered and then the rest of the declaration processed in his brain. His aunt was still in real danger. He turned on the healer. “You said she would not die.”
“And she won’t. Not as long as she gets the rest she needs. She will recover. She is a strong woman. She will hold Whitegate for many more years to come. I am sure of it, but she was badly hurt by this adversary. Whatever it was meant to kill her. They did not, that in itself attests to her strength, but she will need some time to recover from the psychic attack.” Isaac turned his attention to Winifred. “She cannot use any power, other than the minimum necessary to maintain the integrity of the Gate. She will not be up to her full magical capacity for months.”
“She will never agree to that,” said Winifred.
“I know, but if she over-taxes herself, she risks a relapse. I will petition the council to have her power shackled with adamantine as well if necessary.”
“Oh, she will be pissed,” said Winifred.
Asher had a fleeting thought that he didn’t want his aunt’s magic bound when Niles was still walking around free. If he wasn’t so exhausted, he would have complained about that.
“Right now, she has no say in the matter,” the healer continued. “She needs to rest. We will discuss it when she wakes. In fact, you should probably keep her away from the trials and tribulations of the Gate for the time being. The stress is not good for healing. I will inform the Council of the circumstances.”
Asher realized he didn’t care about the Gate. He didn’t care about this Council. He cared about his aunt. She was hurt and it was his fault. She was his only living relative and she had gone after Jules at his request. Now she was hurt, perhaps dying, because of him.
Winifred laid a hand on Asher’s shoulder. “Your aunt will be alright,” she said. “She is over the worst of it. Go and get some rest. You look spent.”
Asher looked at Winifred for a moment, and as if she knew his misgivings, she said. “I will watch over her for now. Evelyn and I were on the same team in school, along with Vanessa,” she said softly.
Strangely, Asher understood what that meant. In the short time since he started at Whitehall, his fighting team had become like his family. He thought about them now, and was struck with a sudden desire to see them.
“I promise I won’t let anything happen to her,” Winifred said. “If there is any change, I will let you know. We have some time before she wakes up. Go. See a healer for your hands. Get some food, and some sleep. Spells like the one you just performed take a lot out of a person.”
Asher nodded and rubbed his hands together. The swelling was going down, but they still felt scalded and raw.
He made his way back to the main area of the Healer’s Wing and immediately found someone to see to his hands.
Tom was one of the healers who regularly patched them up after combat class. The thin man tutted over Asher as he worked, admonishing him to be more careful the entire time he bandaged.
Asher let his attention wander to the other occupants of the hospital ward. There were several members of the bodyguard team treated for were-snake venom, but tucked back in the far corner was the patient he really wanted to see.
She stirred in her sleep as he approached.
“Asher?” Jules said groggily, sounding like a shell of her old self. “Is it really you?”
“It’s me,” he said, as he sat by her bed, taking her hand in his freshly bandaged one. “What happened, Jules?” Asher asked. “I thought you had Dad’s gun. What about the silver bullets, or even the machete?”
“They took me at school,” Jules rasped. “No weapons remember?”
“Well, you’ll soon see that certainly isn’t true at Whitehall,” Asher said thinking of the hours spent on learning how to wield a broad sword.
Jules blinked at him. “I’m going to Whitehall?” she said. “I’m really allowed to stay?”
“Yes,” said Asher. “You’re safe now.”
Jules suddenly started to sob, as if something had been released from her. Asher couldn’t imagine what she had been through to reduce his stalwart friend to tears. He didn’t want to know, and yet, he should have been there with her. All through their childhood, he had been the Harry to her Hermione; Arthur to her Merlin, and when it counted, he had failed her. Never again, he vowed. Never again would he leave a friend behind.
“It’s okay, Jules” he said, hugging her. “Everything will be alright now. We’re going to graduate Whitehall together. And damn anything that tries to stop us.”
“Took you long enough,” Jules said with a sniff, punching Asher in the arm and to his great relief sounding more like her old self. She leaned back and closed her eyes. She was asleep again in moments. Honestly, Asher was so tired himself that he could hardly hold his eyes open. He realized that he had only had a few hours’ sleep in the last twenty-four, and that was only if passing out counted.
He really
wished that he believed everything would be alright now, but the necromancer was still out there, along with whatever dark entity he served. Asher thought about the necromancer’s attack in the ambulance and how helpless he had been. It was obvious Jules didn’t even remember what she had done. He certainly wasn’t going to tell her, but the thought weighed on him. If the necromancer could do this to Jules and to his Aunt Evelyn, what hope did he have against such a foe?
Asher’s fingers found the coin around his neck. The talisman had cooled to a more normal temperature now and he gripped it momentarily in his hand. Its warm familiarity comforted him. Everything would be alright. It had to be.
Asher left the Healer’s wing and had reached the atrium, thinking he could really eat something. Strangely after being violently ill, he was hungry. He still had a nasty taste in his mouth and a terrible headache. A Coke would be heaven.
He turned heading for the dining hall when. He heard a familiar voice.
“Hey!”
Asher turned.
It was Galina.
“We’ve all been worried sick about you,” she said angrily. “You disappeared at the Gate. You said you were going to bed. You lied to us!”
“Yeah,” Asher said sheepishly. “I know. Sorry. I just didn’t want to get everyone in trouble.”
Galina shrugged and smiled. “Well, fat chance of that. One good thing came from it though” she said. “Phoenix beat the snot out of Lacey. When you didn’t show we all thought he had done something to you.”
“Oh?” Asher felt all the tension of the past few days fall away and suddenly there was nothing more worrisome than school bullies.
“Joel was super salty that she beat him to it though,” Galina said. “So he took on Lacey’s two goons for good measure. Him and Dorren sent them both to the healers although Kenny says he helped.”